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I would have never before said that I was proud of where I was from but I'm not sure I could love anywhere else as much. I love it for all the things that it gave me and even some of the things it did not give me. I only know my family back until a certain point because once you reach a specific place in time, records were not kept for the farmers and the poor. How could I not love the place that gave me initials on old trees by the stream or playing hide and go seek in 30 acres of untouched forest. The air smells different on the farm and I feel as though a weight has been lifted from my shoulders on the rare occasion that I get to return there. The rest of the world is amazing. It holds history that we will never know. I want to see it all, I want to roam the lands in Europe, Africa, and Asia. I want to see the ruins and read the history books and walk on paths cut by feet many centuries gone. Then I want to return home, to my quiet life. Return to walks in the woods with my father. I am both ashamed and fiercely proud of the small place that made me who I am. It is different than anywhere else. Unless you live less than 30 miles away, you've never heard of it and you never will. That doesn't mean the people who live here are any less important, its just that they devoted their lives to something different.